The Competition - [75]

“Where was he?”

“Filling up at a gas station. They didn’t get the plate. But they did give a description of the car.” She picked up her notepad. “A blue Volkswagen Jetta with body damage to the right rear fender.”

We grinned and bumped fists. “We have ignition.”

I couldn’t believe how good it felt to finally get a break.

Bailey’s cell buzzed. “Text from Nick. They figured out where the letter was mailed.” She picked up her desk phone and punched in the number.

I sat up. If we could pin down where Logan-or the second shooter-had mailed the letter, we’d have another area to search. It was a very brief conversation. Bailey didn’t look happy. “It was sent from Boulder, Colorado.”

“Boulder?” I’d been sure he was still here, in L.A.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re in Boulder. They might just have someone there who was willing to mail the letter.”

And finding that person would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. A haystack the size of…Boulder, Colorado. I sighed. After the tip about Shane, I’d thought we might finally be on a roll. Two steps forward…

47

With no known ties between Logan and Boulder, the letter was a dead end. I’d had enough of those to last me a lifetime. I went back to the sighting of Shane Dolan. “They didn’t see anyone with him? Or did the PR say?”

PR, person reporting. “He didn’t notice anyone else. But the suspect was pumping gas, so our PR probably only noticed him because he was standing outside the car. I’d guess our tipster didn’t bother to look inside the car once he recognized Shane.”

“Assuming it was Shane.”

Bailey sighed and nodded. “But his picture’s been everywhere, so we’ve got reason to hope. I’m sending Harrellson up there with a couple of unis. If it’s a righteous tip, he’ll run it to ground.”

Harrellson was going to have a lot of miles on him before this was over. “Okay.”

Bailey hit a key to wake up her computer and pulled up the report. “But there is something we can do in the meantime. I’ve got the names and locations of Logan’s junior high and elementary school. They’re both local, so we could-”

“Say no more.” I stood up and grabbed my purse. We were looking for personal information on Logan. Something to tell us whether he’d had an experience at either school that might motivate him to stage another shooting there. But the incident we were looking for might only be something a teacher would remember under questioning-it might not have been significant enough to make it into any records. It was probably something a team of unis could handle, but we’d lose our minds if we didn’t get out and do something. “We’ll have to see if they’ll make time for us on a Saturday, but that’s a great idea.”

Bailey raised an eyebrow. “But first let’s see if we can score you a Xanax, so you don’t make them hide under the table.”

I looked at my watch. “Come on, let’s move. It’s after two. Let’s catch those teachers before they decide to have a life.”

Bailey looked like she wanted to stuff a red ball in my mouth, but we both knew every minute that passed brought us closer to another atrocity. It wasn’t a matter of if. It was a matter of when. And when was likely to be very soon. She placed calls to each of the principals. The principal of Platt Junior High answered first. She told us to come in to the school. She’d round up all the teachers she could find. We trotted out to Bailey’s car, and within seven minutes, we were bombing down the 101 freeway.

Platt Junior High was a low-profile, almost country-looking little school with colorfully painted walls-some with cartoon-style murals featuring flowers, insects, and animals; others in solid vibrant hues of red, purple, and green. The overall effect was cheery, if a little on the young side for middle schoolers.

And Principal Marion Jenks seemed more like someone’s cookie-​baking mom than the head of a junior high. Short and round, she was dressed casually in slacks and a heavy sweater. She ushered us into her office. “Just call me Marion.” Her warm, relaxed smile soothed my frayed nerves. “Logan’s teachers were all happy to come in, and they said they’d stay for as long as it takes. So don’t feel as though you have to rush through anything.”

Not that we would’ve, but it was nice to hear. “How many of them do we have?” I asked.

“Four. Math, English, Spanish, and phys ed.” She opened a file that was on her desk. “He’s a brilliant kid, did you know that?”

“We heard he’s a math genius,” Bailey said.

“He’s a genius, period. He scored one hundred sixty-eight on his last IQ test. I’m not a big believer in those things, but that does indicate a fairly superior level of intelligence-by any measure.” Marion flipped the pages of the file. “I’ve never met him myself, but his file shows no indication that he ever gave us any trouble whatsoever.” She looked from me to Bailey. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll find evidence that he wasn’t one of the shooters?”

“It seems unlikely,” I said.

She shook her head, her eyes sad. “I guess you just never know.” Marion closed the file and handed it to Bailey. “I’ll need you to cover me with a subpoena, but I made this copy of his records for you. It’s under the table, so hang on to it. When you get the official copy you can just shred it.” Marion stood up. “Better get started.”